


Beauty and the Books

by coolbyrne



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21626752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbyrne/pseuds/coolbyrne
Summary: After moving in together, Jack and Gibbs learn some things about each other. Slibbs
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 18
Kudos: 132





	Beauty and the Books

**Author's Note:**

> This started as two ideas that weren't quite long enough to be their own fics; two 'slices of life' stories that are just little snapshots into their relationship. 'Commando' is a real comic book that has been around since 1961 and fits Gibbs' age perfectly. Thought it would be a nice connection to his dad, too.

The morning air greeted her as she stood on the doorstep, cup in hand, enjoying the neighbourhood coming to life. The big USMC hoodie draped off her shoulders and she tucked a long sleeve under her arm while she took a sip of the steaming coffee. She tilted her head towards the sun and smiled, humming a song that had caught her ear as she had passed the radio in the kitchen to the front door. A slight cough made her open her eyes.

“Ma’am.”

The postman stood patiently at the foot of the steps, mail in hand.

“Oh! Sorry.” She grinned and reached for the offering. “Keith, right?”

He seemed surprised she remembered his name. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She held up her cup in a goodbye wave as he turned to leave, and when he was at the end of the walk, she took another deep breath and returned to the house. The inside was cool and quiet and she always felt a sense of calm come over her when she stepped over the threshold. It smelled of wood and coffee and the fresh laundry she had left in the basket on the couch. Gibbs was sitting at the kitchen table, newspaper open to the sports page, coffee at the ready. She put hers down and began sifting through the stack of mail, sorting it between ‘keep’ and ‘recycle’. The third envelope was addressed to her, and for a second, it caught her off-guard. He had asked her to move in 6 weeks ago; she’d been there for 5, and this was the first piece of mail she’d received to this address. There was something a little scary about the significance of it, but also a much larger feeling of home.

“Somethin’ wrong?” he asked, and she hadn’t realized her hand had paused in mid-shuffle.

Her eyes lifted, as did the corners of her mouth. “Got my first piece of mail.” She knew he’d catch the significance, and the light in his blue eyes proved her right. “The electricity bill,” she said, not needing to say more about what it really meant; he knew it as much as she did. “How much does that tiny light bulb in the basement use?”

The deflection got a smirk in return, but he did ask, “Second thoughts?” 

“About telling you I’d pay the electricity bill? Yes.” She waved it in the air then leaned across the table to answer his real question with a kiss that he returned with equal conviction. Standing straight, she began sorting again until she came across something that made her laugh. Raising his gaze, he saw the item in her hand.

“Keep that. Mrs. Tucker will have my ass if I don’t bring it.”

Jack held up the magazine. “It’s a soap opera magazine. Wait. Who’s Mrs. Tucker?”

“Sophia Tucker at the senior centre across the park,” he said casually, attention back to the paper. After a few seconds, he took her silence for the confusion it was. “Fourth wife. Used to tell her our lives became nothin’ but a soap opera after we got married. So one year, I bought her a subscription.”

“Ouch.”

“Yep. We divorced and the thing’s showed up in my mailbox every month like clockwork. Tried to get it cancelled but she took over the subscription and now I’m stuck with it. Told me it would be a reminder of what I’m missin’.”

Jack began putting the pieces together. “So you take it to… Mrs. Tucker every month.”

“Right after I find out what Victor’s up to.”

His poker face was legendary, she’d give him that much. “You saw the headline on the cover.” He didn’t blink. “Is it? A reminder?”

“It’s been almost 20 years, Jack. The only thing it reminds me of is how much she liked to spend money.”

His poker face was good, but when it came to being honest with her, he did nothing to hide it, and she nodded. “Any other subscriptions I should know about?” There was a playfulness in her voice that made him laugh.

“Nothin’ that comes in brown paper, no.”

“I’ve seen your woodworking magazine in the basement. And your comic book in the bathroom.”

His head raised slowly, his voice and gaze level. “That’s not a comic book.”

“You sure?” she asked. “Because it’s got a drawn cover and illustrations inside with word bubbles.”

‘It’s ‘Commando’,” he replied, as if that explained everything.

“Now _that_ sounds like it should be delivered in brown paper.”

He tried to fight the smirk but failed. A drink of his coffee seemed to give him the time to make a decision. “My dad signed me up for it when I was a kid. Been buyin’ it ever since.”

In the same way he understood the importance of her mail being delivered to his house, she understood what it meant for him to reveal that side of himself. It might have seemed like an insignificant piece of his history, but she knew it meant so much more. Sitting beside him, she took his hand in hers and kissed his palm. 

“I wish I had met him,” she said.

He nodded at the missed opportunity. “Me, too. He woulda liked you.” His brows came down. “Maybe too much.”

Now it was her turn to laugh. “Oh, so that’s where you got it from.” His brows went back up and she said, “The charm doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

His hand slid from hers to thread through her hair and pull her close. His kiss was coffee and tease and proof of her statement. A gentle tug encouraged her even closer, inviting her to leave her chair and find a seat on his lap.

“I really…” Her words were swallowed by his kisses. “I really should fold that laundry,” she said, sighing when his lips touched the pulse under her ear. “You’ve already made me put it back in the dryer twice to get the wrinkles out.” His hands curled around her hips and she knew there was no leaving now.

“Third time’s the charm.” His voice vibrated against her throat and her low moan was her reply.

…..

Their living arrangements had become permanent over the last 5 weeks, but he hadn’t noticed until that moment that they’d already had at least one routine: she normally showered first before getting ready for bed, and he followed suit.

He noticed the change tonight because she was the one coming out of the bathroom while he sat in bed with damp hair and glasses on. His second clue was in the way she was towel-drying her hair in a thin white tank top that did little to hide what it was covering, and he was certain he would’ve remembered _that_ had it happened before. She was humming quietly to herself, oblivious to his gaze as she made her way to the bed where she sat down and began what he assumed to be another ritual he had, up to that point, not witnessed. As she reached for a bottle from the nightstand, she began talking about their current case while she squeezed the contents into her palm. He knew he should be listening because, like him, she often had her biggest epiphanies in the shower, and this case had become an endless loop of dead ends. But damn, she was making it hard.

_Nice pun, Gunny._

Her slender fingers trailed the cream from her wrist to her shoulder and back down again, her arm stretched out to receive it. He watched the muscles contract and expand across her back from shoulder to shoulder, soaked in the sight of her biceps and forearms just as much as they soaked in the cream. She repeated the process with the other arm then wiped her hands on the towel on her lap before running her fingers through her hair and holding it away from the nape of her neck to let the air cool the skin. She reached for another bottle and with a smaller amount on her finger tips, rubbed it gently on her cheeks, forehead and chin. One more bottle finished what appeared to be a well-worn routine as she massaged this cream deep into her hands. She was halfway through the task when she turned her head.

“You’re not even listening, are you?”

Shrugging, he sat up, though his lips whispered an apology along her shoulder. “Ya know, I thought those bottles were just for looks.”

She snorted at his honesty. “They are. For these looks.” With a finger, she circled her face.

His laugh was muffled into her shoulder blade as his mouth made its way across her skin. “Don’t need it.”

“Mmm-hmm,” she said. “Says the man who’s gotten better looking with age.” His agreeing hum got him a light swat over her shoulder with the towel and he flopped back against his pillow.

“Torres says it’s not braggin’ if it’s true.”

Jack turned, her mouth open in mock amazement at his braggadocio. “Torres also wears his shirts a size too small.”

Gibbs grunted behind his book and used it as a blind to watch her go back to the bathroom to drop the towel off.

Though she couldn’t see him, she said, “I can feel your eyes on my six.”

“It’s a good view,” he replied with his usual honesty. “Though there’s not much wrong with the front view either.”

She held out her hands and playfully struck a pose that allowed him to get his fill. He had yet to take for granted the ease in which they had grown comfortable with each other and he silently conveyed his appreciation by pulling back the blankets for her to join him. She slid in and up against his side. With her fingers playing with his shirt hem, she peered over to read along with him. He pretended not to notice how she moulded to his arm, tried to ignore how her hand moved from his stomach to take a much more southernly position below the waistband of his boxers. He didn’t know what drove him crazier: the times when she was more than aware of what she was doing, or the times like now, when there was no evidence of teasing in her touch. Just a simple reacquaintance between her hand and his groin. Despite not comprehending a damn thing on the page, he turned it, hoping it would be some kind of distraction, but found a better one in her dismayed murmur. His raised eyebrow asked the silent question.

“You read too fast,” she pouted. “How will I ever find out how Sergeant Joe escapes the clutches of the Nazis?”

He growled at her tease and tossed the comic on the floor. Without warning, he flipped over, pinning her on her back and capturing her small delighted squeal with his mouth. 

…..

-end


End file.
